


Downfall

by FHC_Lynn



Series: Broken Windows [10]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Blood and Gore, Canonical Character Death, Necrophilia, Torture, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-27 09:48:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8396944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FHC_Lynn/pseuds/FHC_Lynn
Summary: One loses things on life's journeys; if you're lucky it's nothing you needed.





	1. Eurydice

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Dreamwidth [tf_rare_pairing community](http://tf-rare-pairing.dreamwidth.org/) for the prompt: Silas/Breakdown: ghost in the machine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silas didn't pay attention when Starscream said 'biology'. He probably should have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the Dreamwidth [tf_rare_pairing community](http://tf-rare-pairing.dreamwidth.org/) for the prompt: Silas/Breakdown: ghost in the machine

Screaming produced the only relief, and even that felt alien to him. Several sharp somethings traced up his inner thigh, and he squirmed. The points flattened against his skin with a soft clank. The touch resolved into cold, jointed rods that explored the gap between his thigh and groin. The expected pain failed to come. Instead, lust surged up from the well of agony, and he screamed again. Low, mocking laughter fell on him, a rain of blows he could not duck.

When a hot, slick something slithered over the fresh blood seeping from the gash in his abdomen, he twisted in his chains. So many to hold down one man. He opened his eyes to blinding light. Something sharp broke the white field to stab him in the chest. It grated, metal on metal, as it pulled back. He whimpered as the hand stroked over his groin.

_No!_

Twisting again, the jumble of colors and sounds in his head resolved on one clear image. Just one. What remained of his body fused to what remained of an enemy's; kept alive in a Frankenstein composite. He screamed again, remembering where he was. The metal carcass jerked to his command, and sharp, sharp fingers raked along the metal shell's side. His prison and life support wired the sensation directly to his brain. And the laughter shattered across his senses again.

"Do join us among the living. It's ever so much more entertaining this way," a low, sultry voice purred at him. Lust rose up again, responding to the voice as much as the touch on his groin. No, not his. The emotion belonged to something else, someone else. The carcass, his brain insisted. Inside the dead metal, he tried to move _himself_ , and he could not. The carcass twisted, struggling against its chains. A sleek, cold face blocked the light. Red and silver.

_Beautiful_ , half of his mind thought while the other panicked. He knew that smirk.

Memory upon memory rolled over him, of pleasure and pain. Filling that body--or being filled by it. All flashing through his body in a wave of heat from the dead brain his own people had wired him to. He screamed.

"Do continue, little vermin," that sultry voice said. The face leaned closer, brushing its lips against the dead face above his. Sharp fingers opened the dead mouth and traced the cold lips. Inside the dead thing's chest, he choked on the sensation and tasted bile and oil. Laughter sounded again. "Fascinating how much still works, isn't it?"

He watched the living monster straddle his dead prison while he twisted it in the chains. It ignored his screams and rubbed its pelvis over his. Not his. The _carcass_. His body reacted, stirring under the heat. A soft snick echoed like gunfire in his mind along with his shouts. Burning wetness rubbed over his body. His tormentor leaned forward to kiss the dead again. Cold desire flooded his mind, focused on the memory of this creature's pleasure, and a pleasure not his own surged through him. His body hardened, and he almost didn't hear a soft snick of moving metal from the body he was trapped inside.

But it thrust up into the body over his, in spite of his horror. Pleasure strung through every nerve as that wet heat tightened, held him like a woman, and that deep voice gasped. He felt the probing kiss come again, felt an echo of movement not his own down his limbs. Joy fought with his loathing, and the creature rode him without mercy to its completion. To _his_ completion inside that snug channel.

Even his screams became alien beneath the cold pleasure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternative chapter summary: It's probably a bad idea to upset widows with chainsaws.


	2. Boundaries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's one more thing to lose?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Humbling River by Puscifer  
> Notes: Inspired by the October Collection going on now.

As a backstabbing, underhanded, self-serving mech of dubious desires and vicious vices, Knock Out had one thresh hold of sin left to cross, and he fought for that boundary with every line in his code. He would keep his secrets, if he could, and he gave no more of the truth than required. Certainly he would twist that truth into the best possible view.

But lies were the tools of those that had taken his life from him.

A whisper here. Another there. It took so little to destroy a reputation. A life's work melted in the furnace when a mech fought all the wrong battles to win. It had been a long, long fall from grace.

In the gutter, he had found the trash: filthy, unwashed mechs, as unwanted and trapped beneath the fine and upstanding few at the top of their society as he was. Alone and afraid, it had been easy to let go of the broken shards of the life now denied him.

It had been easy to take their hands, their weapons, to join them after the Matrix was taken from them. It had been so satisfying to spill the so-precious, so-rich lives of the Senate to the ground and walk across through the glowing rivulets as, together, they fought to take back their prize and world.

Each step with his fellow trash soothed the old rage.

Riots became skirmishes. Skirmishes became open war. Knock Out had to dig through his fancy education for a word to describe the blood flow of his people. Rivulets became rivers such as Cybertron had never seen.

Rock made a poor cushion for such high falls.

Bathed in the rivers’ soft glow, the memory of life in Cybertron's swaying spires cracked and mirrored the horror. Once, once his hands only healed. Mechs’ lives dripped from the points of his talons now, and he knew himself to be a monster. Crossing that last line, he lied to himself: nothing was wrong.

Breakdown had only looked to bust heads as the world spiraled into violence. He wanted respect, and he aimed for it with his fists. He pushed himself into Knock Out's deteriorating existence. And his rough hands left a unsettling, addictive fire behind.

Breakdown made up for their roughness, when Knock Out coyly yielded the fight. Given his head, he made a considerate partner, unlike the dandies that had once courted Knock Out in another life. He was also more thorough and skilled, and Knock Out wished that had been a surprise. It didn't hurt that the fool was more pliable, too.

He had never meant to feel for anyone else again. It hurt to disappoint Breakdown, as Knock Out couldn't help but fail to be an honest partner. It hurt that he earned Breakdown withdrawing his touch and support.

Now Dreadwing walked silently past Knock Out, not only failed in his task but missing Breakdown. Knock Out watched the tremor of his hands and told himself he was better alone.


End file.
